


Though the Brightest Fell

by wingsfromthewater



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cancer, Demon Cancer, Fluff and Angst, Human Crowley (Good Omens), Human!Crowley, Hurt Crowley, M/M, Sickfic, Temporary Character Death, and then i was like oh actually, angel!Crowley, everyone lives happily ever after, i was expecting it to end badly until i literally finished writing it, it was a surprise to me, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 09:36:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19226476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingsfromthewater/pseuds/wingsfromthewater
Summary: Crowley took a deep breath.  “I’ve never fit in to either of those worlds but humans, with their music and their cars and their clever inventions.  Maybe that’s what I should have been all along.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is almost entirely based on the TV show. I read the book probably ten years ago and I liked it a lot but I don't remember a lot of the details. 
> 
> Also, I am so sorry. I just like to torture the characters I love the most. It's really a bit of a problem...
> 
> The title is taken from Macbeth.

“Crowley.”

Crowley sat in a hard-back chair in Aziraphale’s bookshop, his long legs stretched before him, pointy toed shoes resting on a coffee table and his head lolling on to his shoulder.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale said more loudly, in the tone of voice of someone who has had to repeat themselves several times already. 

“What? Yes! No, I,” said Crowley, as he startled awake. That was odd. He’d never nodded off before without meaning to, no matter how drunk he had been. And, though he was fairly drunk, this was nowhere near even the top ten.

Aziraphale was studying him closely. Crowley usually enjoyed having the angel’s full attention on him but, right this moment, Aziraphale wore an expression of concern that Crowley found very disconcerting. 

“Are you alright?” asked Aziraphale.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine,” drawled Crowley swatting at Aziraphale in a broadly dismissive gesture. And then he yawned. Not for effect or because he had meant to but because his body had demanded it. He was so surprised, he clamped his hand over his mouth. If he hadn’t been wearing his shades, Aziraphale would have clearly seen the shock in his eye. Nevertheless, Aziraphale could still plainly see that something was off.

“Are you… tired?” asked Aziraphale, leaning forward on his chair and studying Crowley with an expression that he usually reserved for his books.

Crowley took his hand away from his face tentatively and nodded. “Yes, I think I am.”

Aziraphale looked thoroughly puzzled. “Why?” he asked. “Why not just miracle the tiredness away?”

Crowley took his feet off the coffee table and sat up straighter, looking like he was about to say something. Then he leaned forward, elbows resting on knees and inspected his fingernails. “I think I’m too drunk for this conversation,” he said a little unsteadily. 

“Well, we can fix that.” said Aziraphale. “Shall we sober up?”

“No!” said Crowley. He looked in to Aziraphale’s face. He was going to have to tell him. There was no way he could do this without him and, even if he could, he didn’t want to hide something this big from Aziraphale. “I’m not doing that anymore.” 

“Not doing what?”

“I’m not miracling things anymore. Not hunger, not sleep. Not… my hair,” he said gesturing at his perfect red coiffure, trying to make a joke to wipe that stunned look off Aziraphale’s face. And really, the angel displayed every emotion he had ever felt on his face for all the world to see. How had he managed for six millennia like that?

“Why the Heaven would you do a thing like that, Crowley?”

Crowley looked down at his hands again. He couldn’t look at Aziraphale and say the next part, but it had to be said. “I want to know what it’s like to be human. Truly human.” 

There was silence for a long moment before Crowley looked back up at Aziraphale who was watching him with an incredibly soft expression on his face. “Oh, my dear fellow. Why?” 

And, playing in opposition to his angel, this he knew how to do. When Aziraphale was soft, Crowley was tough. When Aziraphale was vulnerable, Crowley was strong. He sat back up in his chair, lounging despite the hard-wooden back. Then he swung his ankle over his knee for good measure. 

“You know, I didn’t really intend to be a demon. I was just in the right place at the wrong time.” Aziraphale nodded his head. “But I never really fit in with that lot. And, I’ve been a demon for so long, I don’t think I could go back to being an angel again, even if it were possible. I didn’t ever really feel like I fit in there in the first place which was sort of the problem.” Crowley took a deep breath. “I’ve never fit in to either of those worlds but humans, with their music and their cars and their clever inventions. Maybe that’s what I should have been all along.” 

Aziraphale stood and walked across the room to sit in the chair next to Crowley’s. He reached out a hand and rested it gently on Crowley’s arm. “I knew you’d always felt a little... disconnected. I’m sorry I didn’t realize how bad it truly was.” 

Crowley rested his hand on top of the angel’s, trying not to read too much into it and just see it as the gesture of comfort that it was. 

“Are you sure about this?” Aziraphale asked.

“Not in the slightest. This will probably all end in tears,” said Crowley.

“Is there anything I can say to talk you out of it?” tried Aziraphale.

“I don’t think so,” said Crowley.

“I really wish you wouldn’t,” said Aziraphale. “But I understand if this is what you want to do.” 

“It is.”

They sat that way for a long moment until Crowley yawned again.

Aziraphale stood, his hands on his hips and looked down at Crowley. “Right,” he said. “If you are really serious about doing this, then I believe it is time that you go to bed.” 

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale, his lips curling in a scowl. “What?”

“This is what humans do when they are tired. They go to bed.”

“But I’m not tired,” Crowley whined even as Aziraphale took his elbow and wrestled him up. Crowley leaned against Aziraphale as they walked and Aziraphale wrapped an arm around his back to steady him.

Crowley leaned his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder looking up at him and not at all in the direction they were walking.

“What would I do without you, Angel?” he whispered in a hoarse voice. It was shadowy and dark in this corner of the bookshop, so he likely didn’t notice the pink blush that spread up Aziraphale’s face. 

Aziraphale helped Crowley to an old red couch in a quiet corner of the bookstore’s storeroom. 

“Did you always have this couch?” asked Crowley as he flopped down heavily.

“Oh yes,” said Aziraphale. “You’ve never noticed it before.”

Crowley slumped sideways and began nuzzling his cheek into the red velvet cushion. “‘S comfy,” he slurred, his eyes already shut.

Aziraphale pulled a throw blanket that may not have been there a moment before over Crowley’s legs and then gently slid the sunglasses off his face. “Goodnight, Crowley”.

“‘Night, Angel.”

***  
Crowley woke to the sound of a bustling angel and a splitting headache. He groaned, flopping on to his back and throwing an arm over his eyes.

The bustling sounds stopped, and he could feel an angelic presence staring him down. Crowley peak out from under his arm. The sunlight streaming through a window and reflecting off Aziraphale’s suit was blinding. Crowley groaned again and placed his arm firmly back over his eyes. He felt a cool hand rest on his forehead.

“Would you like me to miracle away your headache?” Aziraphale asked softly.

“No,” moaned Crowley, his voice raspy.

“I didn’t think so,” said Aziraphale. “So, I brought you some paracetamol. Sit up.”

Crowley sat up and Aziraphale sat next to him, handing him the two small tablets and a glass of water. Crowley swallowed them with a grimace and a tiny sip of water. “As I understand, you should attempt to drink all of that,” said Aziraphale. 

Crowley grimaced again and took another small sip of water. 

“What is it like? Is it really all that bad?” asked Aziraphale.

“Yep,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale regarded him for a moment before reaching over to rub gentle circles on Crowley’s back. Crowley arched into his hand like a cat. Aziraphale patted him on the shoulder and then stood. “Drink that water and I’ll find you something to eat.”

An hour, some food and more water later, Crowley was feeling nearly himself again though there was crick in his neck that became a shooting pain if he turned too far in the wrong direction. 

He sauntered out into the front room of the store where Aziraphale was dusting books. “Thank you for the hospitality Angel, but I should be going. The early bird gets the worm and so on.”

“Of course,” replied Aziraphale. “It was my pleasure. Do you have anything interesting planned for today?”

“Oh, I’ll be working, just like the rest of humanity,” said Crowley. 

“When you said you weren’t going to miracle anything, you really meant you weren’t going to miracle anything, didn’t you?” asked Aziraphale.

“Of course. The fight for resources has long been an integral part of the human condition,” said Crowley. “Would you like to know what I’ll be doing?”

“I would,” said Aziraphale following Crowley out on to the pavement in front of the bookstore. A black city cab sat parked on the street, looking entirely innocent except that the bonnet seemed slightly longer than it should have been. 

“Crowley, you didn’t,” said Aziraphale looking exasperated and intrigued all at once.

“I did,” said Crowley. “It was my last miracle. I just couldn’t give her up.” 

Aziraphale turned to Crowley, looking slightly concerned. “Just remember, if you don’t plan on using any miracle’s you will need to pay a little more attention to posted speed limits.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about me, Angel,” said Crowley, running around to the driver’s side and hopping into the car. 

“Have a good day at work,” called Aziraphale. “Be careful!”

Crowley shook his head and started the car. “Goodbye, Angel!” he called back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley learns that the London real estate situation is pretty much the worst.

Crowley felt more than heard the telltale popping of a occult entity appearing nearby. It jerked him out of a vivid dream that most definitely was not about an angel at all. He opened his eyes and turned his head to see Aziraphale sitting in the passenger seat of his car as though he had been manifested from Crowley’s subconscious. 

“Aziraphale, it is two in the morning. What the Heaven are you doing in my car?” Crowley sat up groggily and rubbed his eyes. He reached down and righted the backrest of the driver’s seat. Reclining the seat was the only way he could make his entirely too tall body fit comfortably enough into the cab to sleep. 

“Why are you sleeping in your car?” Aziraphale asked, looking around as though expecting to see some clue to Crowley’s strange behavior sitting on the dashboard.

“No reason,” growled Crowley. “Why are you in my car when I’m trying to sleep?”

“I was worried,” said Aziraphale, directing his attention back to Crowley. He had a little wrinkle of concern forming between his eyebrows and Crowley wanted to reach up and rub it away. 

Instead he scoffed. “You don’t have to worry about me, Angel. I’m fine.”

“Well, I phoned your flat several times this week with no answer. And then today there was an answer, from someone saying they’d just moved in and perhaps I needed to update my address book. They were quite rude about it actually,” said Aziraphale. He turned his body, so he was facing Crowley directly in the cramped confines of the cab. “I got worried. And then I find you sleeping in your car in the middle of the night. Crowley, please tell me-“

Aziraphale face had gone from concerned to soft and oh, so sad and Crowley could not handle it. Not after having hardly slept and barely eaten in a full week. Not that his body needed him to sleep or eat. It just made him cranky. “Shut it, Angel,” he snapped. “I’m fine.” 

“No, I don’t think you are,” said Aziraphale, softly. “Look, I understand what you’re doing. And truly I commend you for it. I’m not here to try to talk you out of it.” Crowley stared down at his hands, seething. Aziraphale wasn’t supposed to see him here. It was only going to be a few weeks and then he would have a flat and he would invite Aziraphale over and show him how well he was doing. This, sitting in his car in the middle of a cold, rainy night, this was just pathetic. 

“Crowley, look at me, please.” And Crowley couldn’t deny his Angel anything when he asked with that voice. His eyes were hidden behind his shades and the darkness so he prayed that Aziraphale wouldn’t see his own pain reflected back in them. 

“Human’s let their friends help them,” continued Aziraphale. “Do you think they would have gotten far at all if they hadn’t?” 

Crowley looked back down at his hands. “I don’t need your help,” he said and even he could hear how petulant he sounded.

“I know you don’t,” and now the Angel was beginning to sound exasperated. “I’m certain you have a plan, and everything is going along just swimmingly.” 

“Yeah, you’re right,” said Crowley, morosely. “This is all going exactly to plan.” 

Aziraphale turned forward in his seat with a huff, staring out of the front with his arms crossed. Crowley slouched even further down in his seat. They sat in silence for a few moments, the only sound that of the rain pattering on the roof of the cab.

“Part of the human experience is learning to accept help when you need it,” said Aziraphale slowly as though he were choosing his words carefully.

And this was just the out the Crowley was looking for that would allow him to say yes and go back to Aziraphale’s cozy, warm, dry bookshop. He considered for a moment, wanting to say yes but unable to outright say it. “Humans are communal creatures,” he said eventually. “I suppose it an important part of the experience, as you say.”

“Jolly good, my dear fellow! Shall we be off then?”

Crowley looked at the Angel for a moment and then shook his head. He started the car and pulled away from the kerb. Crowley had been parked near St Pancras and Kings Cross in anticipation of the morning rush, so it took them very little time to drive to Soho through the quiet nighttime streets. 

A few minutes later, they were pulling up in front of the bookshop. Aziraphale unlocked the door and then stood aside for Crowley to come in before shutting and locking the door again. The shop was dark but Aziraphale crossed the shop floor without turning on any lights, heading straight for the stairs. 

Crowley hadn’t spent nearly as much time in Aziraphale flat as in the bookshop downstairs, but he always loved the time he had spent there. It contained a small living room and attached kitchen with white painted walls that, during the day were bright and cheerful in a way that Crowley would find obnoxious except that it reminded him of Aziraphale himself. The walls and shelves were covered in six thousand years’ worth of accumulated memorabilia, all the things that Aziraphale had deemed worth saving. If any historian had ever been lucky enough to walk into this room, they would have started crying or salivating or both. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” said Aziraphale as he began bustling around the flat, turning on lights and pulling things out of the kitchen cupboards. “Are you hungry?”

“No, I’m fine.” Crowley’s eyes lit on a thick metal nail on a shelf. He picked it up and began to twirl it between his fingers. 

Aziraphale turned, his hands on his hips, the beginning of a scolding clearly on its way. His eyes flicked down to the nail in Crowley’s hands. His arms lowered and his face softened. “Well, I want some pasta, so you may as well join me,” he said, turning back to the kitchen counter.

Half an hour later, Crowley and Aziraphale sat at the kitchen table over empty pasta plates. That the Angel was able to whip up pasta carbonara like that with little time and no warning was likely miraculous. But Crowley, warm and full was finding it difficult to complain. In fact, he was finding it difficult to do much of anything except yawn. He stood up and walked over to the sofa. “I think I really get some sleep now, if you don’t mind,” he said between yawns. He began to toe his shoes off.

“My dear fellow, you should really take the bed,” said Aziraphale, standing and taking the dishes to the sink. Then he walked to the bedroom and flicked on the light. 

Crowley had been in Aziraphale bedroom before, he was sure he had. But he didn’t remember it being so cozy. It was white and bright like the rest of the flat but softer and warmer and full of different textures, soft rugs, a fluffy duvet and pale raw stone nightstands. 

“No, I couldn’t,” said Crowley, rubbing hand on the back of his neck. “I’ll be just fine on the couch.” 

“I really wasn’t planning on sleeping much anyway,” said Crowley. “I’m halfway through a fascinating book and I’m sure I couldn’t sleep until I finish it.” 

“No, really I-“started Crowley.

“I insist,” said Aziraphale. He was smiling but it was the kind of smile that said, ‘I’m an angel so I have to be polite but if you don’t stop arguing with me now, I may consider smiting you.’

“Fine,” said Crowley. 

“Good.” They looked at each other for a moment longer, neither of them sure of how to proceed. 

The Crowley reached down and took his Angel’s hand. “Thank you,” he said. He squeezed Aziraphale’s hand once and then dropped it.

Several minutes later, he was wrapped in the warmth and softness of Aziraphale’s bed. He wasn’t surprised that it appeared that Aziraphale had bought a very expensive, fancy mattress but he was incredibly grateful as he felt his body melt into it. The room was dark save for the crack of light from under the door and the only sounds were the occasional rustle as Aziraphale turned a page of his large, dusty book. Crowley felt warm and content for the first time in many thousands of years, and drifted off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has a new flat and he's Very Proud of it.

Crowley found a small flat in a postwar building in zone five. Everything about that description would have made Crowley cringe and feel slightly nauseous before. Now, it was home.

Of course, it was the only place Crowley could manage on his salary, but such details weren’t important. It was a single room with a small kitchen on one side, a curtained off alcove for his bed on the other and a small sitting area in the middle. It was furnished with mismatched Mid-Century Modern furniture that had been scavenged from local charity shops. The curtains, bedspread and rug were all the same shade of soft grey.

The only color came from the plants crowding the windowsills of the two small windows, the one large Strelitzia Nicolai sitting in the corner and his precious Mona Lisa. 

Crowley roamed around the small space like a lion in a cage but if the lion were obsessively checking for dust. 

There was a knock at the door and Crowley straightened from where he had been bending over a plant. He tugged his shirt straight and glanced in the mirror as he walked towards the door, tucking a bit of hair back into place. He placed his hand on the door handle and paused for a moment before flinging the door open.

“Aziraphale!” he said in his most cheerful voice. “Come in!” He stood back and gestured to the room in a sweeping motion. The angel stepped across the threshold and the room instantly seemed a little lighter. 

“Crowley! So good to see you,” said Aziraphale. He held out a small potted plant with delicate green leaves covered in small pink spots. “I brought you a little housewarming gift.” 

“You shouldn’t have,” said Crowley. His fingers brushed over Aziraphale’s as he took the plant. Their eyes meet and Aziraphale beamed at him effulgently. Crowley cleared his throat, took the plant and set it in the middle of the small kitchen table. 

“Let me give you the tour,” he said, turning back to Aziraphale. 

“Yes please,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley swung his arm out in a wide sweeping gesture that encompassed the entire small room. “This is it.” 

Aziraphale moved around the room, looking and touching and taking in all the details.

Crowley watched, tight lipped. Behind his sunglasses, his eyes squinted in concern. 

Finally, Aziraphale turned to him with an enormous smile on his face. “It’s lovely,” he said.

“You think so?” asked Crowley. He really had worked hard to make this place nice despite not being able to miracle things to be just so.

“It really is,” said Aziraphale. “It’s so you, Crowley.” Aziraphale quickly turned away to inspect a plant in more detail. 

Crowley watched sadly for a moment as Aziraphale bent over a plant in a yellow pot that clearly wasn’t doing as well as the others. Its leaves kept going brown despite Crowley doing his best to maintain perfect light and moisture levels. 

“There is actually something I wanted to talk to you about,” said Aziraphale turning to face Crowley who was leaning against the kitchen table. 

“What’s that?” asked Crowley. “Tea?”

“Yes, please,” said Aziraphale. He took a seat at the table as Crowley filled the kettle. 

“Michael came to see me,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley put the kettle down a little too hard and water sloshed over on to the countertop. “What did they want?” growled Crowley, his back still turned to Aziraphale but his shoulders tense. He picked up a tea towel and wiped down the water before turning the kettle on.

“It seems that Heaven’s been a bit, shall we say, unstable since the world failed to end,” said Aziraphale. “Apparently, many of the angels are feeling like all the hard work they’ve put in over the past few millennia has been wasted. And can you blame them really?” Aziraphale shook his head. “Michael wants me to come help quell the unrest. They seem to think that if heaven’s most unruly angel can be seen following orders, the rest will fall in line.”

“Heaven’s most unruly angel?” said Crowley, turning to look fondly at Aziraphale. “And that would you, would it?”

“It would seem so,” said Aziraphale, looking back at Crowley. “It has been suggested that the company I keep may have been a bad influence on me.” 

“I wouldn’t know what you’re talking about,” said Crowley, grinning. The kettle clicked off and Crowley pour the water over the tea bags and set them on the table with spoons, milk and sugar as well as some biscuits.

Aziraphale picked up a spoon and began to flick it through his fingers. “I was considering doing it,” said Aziraphale softly, looking down at his hands.

“You what?” said Crowley, leaning back in his chair, his face becoming a mask of anger.

“I don’t really know what to do,” said Aziraphale. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you about it.”

“You should do whatever you want,” said Crowley. “Don’t worry about I think.” He tried to play nonchalant, leaning back and stretching an arm across the back of the chair next to him. ‘But of course,’ a small voice at the back of his mind whispered to him. ‘Of course, Aziraphale doesn’t want to be around you when you’re not using your powers and you’re becoming more and more human every minute.’

“Crowley, please don’t be like that,” said Aziraphale leaning forward, stretching a hand across the table. “I haven’t made up my mind yet at all. I do feel a little responsible but frankly I don’t want to go.” Crowley barely moved at these words, but the tension began to drain from his face and shoulders. He looked back at Aziraphale. 

“Drink your tea before it gets cold,” he said. “There are no miracles in this house so you will not be warming it back up.” It was silent for a moment as they both fixed their tea. “I don’t think you should go,” said Crowley softy.

Aziraphale looked at him but his attention was fully focused on his tea.

“You are not responsible for whatever is going on up there and they don’t deserve you anyway,” said Crowley, the venom in his voice surprising even him. Aziraphale looked at him, his eyes wide with surprise at Crowley’s tone. “You didn’t see Gabriel, when he told me to step into the fire. Honestly, I wouldn’t trust your lot any more than I trust mine. I think you’re much better off staying down here.”

Aziraphale looked at him, considering for a moment. “Thank you, Crowley. That’s what I’ll do then.” 

“Good,” said Crowley tightly.

They sat in silence for a few moments more. Aziraphale held his mug in both hands and continued looking around the flat with interest. Eventually, his eyes lit on a black violin case. “Are you learning to play the violin, Crowley?” asked Aziraphale excitedly.

“No! I, well, ah yes,” said Crowley, nearly choking on a sip of tea. He coughed and then cleared his through. “Yes, I am.” 

Aziraphale’s face lit up. “Would you play me something?”

Crowley shrank back, his lips curling in a scowl. “No, I will not,” he said. Aziraphale’s face fell. “Not today anyway. I’ve only just started learning.” 

Aziraphale smiled. “But, someday?” he asked.

“Yeah, Angel. Someday.” 

Later that evening, after Aziraphale left, Crowley began rearranging his plants to make a space for the new one Aziraphale had brought. He picked up the one in the yellow pot, whose leaves had been looking so wilted that morning. It was looking considerably better now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hold on tight! The next two chapters are going to be fun! If by fun you mean angsty and sad. Which I do.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley plays the violin.

“Crowley, is that you?”

Aziraphale was at the back of the shop when the bell above the door rang. Though Crowley had been feeling significantly less demonic recently, Aziraphale had always been able to sense when he had arrived. This time, Crowley seemed so different, Aziraphale couldn’t actually be sure it was him. He peaked around the doorway with a stack of books in his hands. Sure enough, there was his demon, standing in the middle of the room, wearing dark glasses and carrying a violin case. 

“Come in, come in my dear fellow. Let me just-“ he disappeared back in to the store room to deposit the books on an already heaping table. 

He reemerged from the backroom, brushing dust off of his pale trousers. “Crowley, how are-“ He froze, mouth agape. Because Crowley had just taken off his sunglasses. To reveal brown eyes. Human eyes. Brown human eyes the color of black coffee or deep water on a dark night. 

“Crowley,” he whispered, moving towards him his hand outstretched, needing to see, to understand how these human eyes fit with the demon he knew. It was even more jarring than when Crowley had cut his hair. Before he knew what he was doing, Aziraphale had cupped his hand around Crowley’s cheek.

The moment he touched Crowley’s skin, he could feel the white hot energy that was the unmistakable signature of a soul. And he could see it flickering silver and white. Souls were almost never visible. Even the most expansive rarely did more than flit above the surface. As he rested his hand on Crowley’s cheek, glittering tendrils of soul came together and began to twine around his fingers. 

Aziraphale was certain that he looked entirely gob smacked and he absolutely didn’t care. “Crowley,” he breathed, his eyes flickering from the gathering light to Crowley’s eyes and back again. “You’re human. You have a soul. It’s beautiful.”

“What are you on about, Angel?” asked Crowley, his lips pursing in the beginning of a scowl.

Aziraphale pulled his hand back. He couldn’t focus with little bits of Crowley’s literal soul peppering his skin with warm caresses. He took a deep breath which, while technically unnecessary, went a long way to steadying him. “How long have your eyes been like that?”

Crowley sighed and ran a hand across his face. “it’s been happening for a while now. It started slow at first. They just got darker and less, you know, snaky. And then I woke up a few days ago and viola, human eyes.”

“Well, as far as I can tell, it’s not just your eyes that are human. It’s all of you. I can’t sense anything demonic anymore. Just pure human.” Aziraphale’s face lit up. “And your soul. Crowley, I’ve never seen a soul like it. It’s pure and clean but so complex.”

Crowley shrugged. “Ah, well. You know, I haven’t had it long to enough to get it messy, I guess.”

“May I?” Aziraphale asked, gesturing to Crowley’s hand that was holding the handle of the violin case. 

Crowley scowled but held his hand out a bit. Aziraphale took a step forward and brushed his fingertips against the back of Crowley’s hand. The rest of the room seemed to dim in comparison to the dazzling light emanating from Crowley. Aziraphale watched the light sparkle and dance with a broad smile on his face. “Oh, I wish you could see this.” He turned his attention back to the soft smile gracing Crowley’s face.

“I don’t need to see it,” Crowley said softly, swaying forward slightly as though he’d considered moving closer to Aziraphale and had reconsidered it. 

Aziraphale looked down, feeling suddenly embarrassed. “Oh, you brought your violin.” He took his hand away from Crowley’s and the light dimmed. “Would you play for me? I would love to hear it.”

“Sure,” said Crowley. He continued to scrutinize Aziraphale for a moment longer, with a soft expression on his face. Then he shook himself slightly and moved away to set his violin case on the table. As Crowley tuned, Aziraphale bustled around the room, flipping over the ‘Closed’ sign and pulling out a chair for himself. He settled himself in the chair and watched as Crowley turned towards him, violin and bow in hand.

He stood in the center of the room, a sliver of a shadow in the dusty light. He raised the violin and held the bow in preparation. He made such a striking figure that Michelangelo himself could have spent years trying to recreate him in marble and not have come close to showing his strength or grace.

And then Crowley closed his eyes and began to play and Aziraphale was transfixed. The music touched a part of himself that hadn’t stirred since he’d first laid eyes on his Lord’s creation. Long before the music ended, Aziraphale felt his throat tighten and his eyes begin to prickle. He’d never felt this sensation before. He rubbed a finger beneath his eye and it came away wet. 

The song ended with a single piercing, desperate note. Crowley lowered the violin and opened his eyes, his face an unreadable mask. Aziraphale smiled with tears still running down his face. 

They stared at each other for a long moment, the spell of the music still hanging in the air. Eventually, Aziraphale said, “That was lovely. What was it? I’ve never heard it before.”

“That’s because I wrote it for you,” said Crowley, his eyes flickering way from Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale stood and moved forward towards Crowley as he had so many times, needing something but not certain what. He reached out to touch Crowley’s arms and shoulders. Crowley stepped forward, resting his forehead on Aziraphale’s shoulder and Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him. And this. This was the thing he had been moving towards all those years. He felt Crowley’s arms wrap around his back, the violin and bow still in his hands. He had his demon in his arms, and he couldn’t figure why this hadn’t happened sooner. The light shown again, and it was all Crowley, warm and inviting and just a little bit prickly.

Eventually, Aziraphale pulled himself back until he was holding Crowley by the shoulders. “Tea?” he asked. And if they shared the settee rather than separate chairs and sat a bit closer than usual, no one mentioned it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I couldn't remember if they talked about souls much in the book but they don't in the show so I made up my own rules. 
> 
> Also, I fully acknowledge that this is very cheesy but I stand behind it! 
> 
> (I should write from Aziraphale's perspective more because then I get to describe Crowley and that is Very Fun.) 
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very bad night and a very good morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, this is a long one. I am so sorry.

The night was cold and rainy with gusts of wind that blew rain down the road in sheets. The shop had been closed for hours now but Aziraphale still sat by the light of a lone lamp, reading a large book, in an obscure language with a cup of cocoa by his right hand. 

The sudden banging on the front door startled him so much that he nearly knocked the cocoa on to his book. Aziraphale jumped to his feet. Whoever it was must be in dire straits to be out on a night like this. He pulled open the door and Crowley practically fell into the room. Aziraphale put out his hands to keep him from crashing to the floor and Crowley clutched at his arms. 

“Something’s wrong. Aziraph-“ Crowley began coughing so hard, he couldn’t speak. He sagged against Aziraphale. He was completely soaked and Aziraphale could feel the cold water leaching through his cloths where Crowley was pressed against him. He could also feel his soul, still warm and bright but fluttering anxiously. 

Aziraphale helped Crowley across the room to a chair. Crowley was still coughing, and each breath sounded like a ragged gasp. Aziraphale stood over him, rubbing a hand up and down his arm, trying to be soothing. Crowley’s eyes were wide and panicked and perfectly reflected how Aziraphale felt. 

Eventually the coughing slowed and Crowley began to breath normally again though he still sounded ragged and continued to cough once or twice every few breaths. Aziraphale hurried away for a glass of water, returning as quickly as he could without spilling it. He handed it to Crowley who took a sip before handing it back with shaking hands.

Aziraphale knelt before the chair, taking one of Crowley’s hands in his own. “My dear, what happened?” 

“Not sure,” whispered Crowley, his voice rough. “Must be sick.” 

“How long have you felt this way?” asked Aziraphale, rubbing Crowley’s cold hand between his own.

“A few weeks. Just thought it was a cold. Humans are always getting sick,” he coughed again and then leaned his head back against the chair, his eyes closed, waves of pain crossing his face.

“Can I- I see what’s wrong but it would take a minor miracle. Will you let me?” asked Aziraphale. Crowley nodded his head, eyes still closed. 

Aziraphale stood and brought his hands gently to either side of Crowley’s neck, his thumbs rubbing gently under his jaw and down the sides of his Adam’s Apple. Crowley moan softly.

“Does it hurt?” asked Aziraphale, pulling his hands away. Crowley reached up to grab his hands, replacing them on his neck.

“Yeah, a bit. Feels good though. Your hands are warm,” he whispered.

Aziraphale nodded and continued. He pushed his grace into Crowley, feeling around for anything that would explain this. He could feel a sore throat and inflamed lymph nodes, all the sorts of things that you would except with a bad cold. He moved a hand to Crowley’s forehead and, as he expected, there was a rather high fever. He slid his hands down over Crowley’s collar bone and rested them over his chest.

Aziraphale blanched. He wasn’t immediately sure what exactly was wrong but he could tell there was something. Bad. He felt his heart beating faster, wanting to race out of control but he willed it to slow. He needed to stay calm and in control. He pushed his grace deeper in and he felt two black masses, one in each lung. They had a distantly evil feel that most demons had but that Crowley really hadn’t. 

He forced himself to continue to breath as he moved his hands away. 

“How am I, doctor?” asked Crowley, trying to grin but the effect was somewhat ruined by the pain in his eyes. 

“Upstairs,” said Aziraphale. “You need some dry clothes.” Crowley stood and began moving towards the stairs. He moved slowly, his feet barely lifting from the floor. Aziraphale went to walk beside him, a hand on his back. Crowley held on to the banister and began climbing. After a few steps, he was breathing hard and swaying. Aziraphale wrapped an arm around Crowley’s back and put his other hand under Crowley’s elbow. If he used a small miracle to make the staircase a step or two shorter, Crowley didn’t notice.

At the top of the stairs, Crowley leaned heavily against Aziraphale, coughing but trying not to. Aziraphale held him loosely, rubbing his back until the coughing subsided. He led Crowley to the bedroom where he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. Aziraphale found a pair of pajamas and a towel and handed them to Crowley. 

“Do you want help?” he asked, uncertainly.

“No,” scowled Crowley, sounding nearly like his normal self, until he started coughing again. After a moment, he said more softly, “No really. I can manage.” 

Aziraphale nodded and left the room, closing the door over so it was only open a crack. While he waited, he paced around his flat as quietly as he could manage, alternatively pulling his hair and wringing his hands. 

After a few minutes, he heard a soft voice call, “Angel.” He hurried to the door and then stopped and pushed it open slowly, peaking into the room. Crowley was sitting, hunched over on the foot of the bed, looking tiny in Aziraphale’s pajamas. Crowley looked up at him as he came in.

“You know what’s wrong,” he said. It was not a question.

Aziraphale nodded.

“Tell me,” he said.

Aziraphale hesitated for a moment and then sat on the bed next to Crowley. Crowley reached towards him. It was only a flicker of a gesture but Aziraphale noticed and caught Crowley’s hand in his own. He swallowed, unsure of how to say this. “I felt something… growing in your lungs. Masses of some kind. I don’t know what you would call it, but it shouldn’t be there.”

“Cancer?” asked Crowley. “You would have thought our side would have invented that but, turns out, it’s just a flaw in the design.” 

”I don’t know if that’s exactly it but it’s probably close enough to count,” said Aziraphale. “It felt evil, exactly the same as the way Hell smells. I think it might be demonic in nature which is why it happened so fast.” Aziraphale was silent for a moment, watching Crowley’s still profile as Crowley stared down at their intertwined hands resting on his leg. 

“So, when it comes to being a demon, I guess I’ve always been damned if I did and damned if I don’t,” said Crowley. His attempt at lightening the mood fell through when he began coughing again. He leaned in to Aziraphale’s shoulder and Aziraphale held him. When the coughing stopped, neither of them felt that it was particularly important to move out of each other’s grasp. 

“What are we going to do?” whispered Crowley, and for the first time in the six thousand years Aziraphale had known him, he sounded scared. 

“I don’t know,” whispered Aziraphale. “Upstairs revoked our power to heal miraculously hundreds of years but ago. But maybe I could get dispensation if I go talk to the powers that be.”

He felt Crowley stiffen. “Don’t go up there,” he said. “What if they keep you up there? What if you’re gone and then I-“ he began to cough again and his face was screwed up in pain that seemed to go beyond the pain of his physical body. “When I die, you have to be here to show me how to get to Heaven. Because if I go down to Hell, I’ll never see you again.”

Aziraphale pulled Crowley together to his side. “I’m so sorry, my dear,” he whispered. “But angel’s and souls aren’t allowed to mix. There are completely separate departments. That’s why we’ve got St Paul at the gate instead of one of us.” 

“I’m going to die and then I’ll never see you again,” said Crowley disbelievingly, his voice growing louder with each word. “I never thought- It never even occurred to me!” He ripped himself away from Aziraphale and stood growling the kind of growl that would have stuck fear in the hearts of men and caused spontaneous thunder when he was a demon. Now, it just made him start coughing again. He sank to his knees coughing and crying and gasping for air. 

Aziraphale was at his side in an instance. “No, it will be alright. We’ll fix this. You won’t- You’ll be fine. We’ll figure it out.” 

“I will,” said Crowley between gasps. He looked up at Aziraphale, his face wet with tears, his eyes wide. “I will die someday. Today or in forty years. And then I’ll go to Heaven or Hell but it won’t matter. Because what’s the point of Heaven if you’re not there?” He let himself succumb to the sobs and coughing that wracked his body. He curled in on himself and Aziraphale hovered over him, wanting to protect him but not able to shield him from this. 

When the coughing finally abated, Aziraphale helped Crowley to his feet and led him around to sit on the side of the bed. Crowley pulled Aziraphale down to sit next to him and then tucked himself in to the angel’s side. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him again. 

“I tried to use my power today,” said Crowley, softly. “I tried to heal myself. And when that didn’t work, I tried something simple. I tried water in to wine. I tried flicking open a door. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

Aziraphale’s face was pressed into Crowley’s shoulder. Aziraphale could feel tears sliding down his own face, wetting the fabric of Crowley’s shirt. 

“When I started this, I didn’t even know it was possible to become human,” continued Crowley. “I never truly believed my powers were completely gone. They’ve been a part of me for so long. I always thought that if I ever really needed them, I’d be able to call them back.” 

Aziraphale swallowed, trying to keep the tears from his voice. “We can still fix this. I’ll go to Heaven,” he said. “I’ll ask-”

“Don’t” said Crowley. “Stay with me.”

“Crowley-“

“Please.” Crowley looked at him with such a look of desperation that Aziraphale nodded. 

They sat for a while until Crowley began to shiver. 

“Lay down,” said Aziraphale. “You’ll be more comfortable.” Crowley opened his mouth to protest but Aziraphale stopped him. “I’ll be right here.” Crowley laid down and Aziraphale pulled the covers over him. Aziraphale sat on the other side of the bed, his back against the headboard. He placed his hand gently on Crowley’s head and smooth his hair, doing what he could for the headache and fever. For a long time, Crowley tossed and turned but eventually, he fell in to a deep, still sleep. 

Aziraphale got up from the bed and found Crowley’s mobile in his jacket pocket. He dialed a number and the phone began to ring. 

An hour later, Madame Tracy arrived. He escorted her across the shop and up the stairs as she muttered platitudes. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear your poor young man is poorly. I do hope he recovers quickly. Did you try lemon water and honey? Or my gran used to swear by a glug of whiskey in a cup of tea.” 

As she entered the flat, Aziraphale ushered her around the large white circle and candles in the middle of the floor. He stopped before the bedroom door. “He’s been sleeping for a while and I think he’ll sleep a little more,” he said in a low voice. “If you would please just sit with him. I don’t want him to be alone if he wakes. And if you need me before I get back, just pray.” 

Madame Tracy nodded seriously and Aziraphale opened the door. He indicated a chair by the bed and Madame Tracy settled herself in it. Aziraphale looked down at the sleeping figure on the bed. He started to reach out for Crowley’s hand but thought better of it and stopped. He gazed at him with a look of fond determination. They he turned to Madame Tracy and smiled a thin-lipped smile before stepping back out of the room. 

He knelt before the circle and began to pray softly and in Latin for good luck. The circle began to glow. Aziraphale dipped a finger in holy water and traced the appropriate sigils on his forehead, chest and both palms. Then he stood and stepped into the circle. 

He appeared in Heaven’s Atrium. A young Angel greeted him politely.

“I need to see Gabriel,” said Aziraphale so loudly that his voice echoed off the polished, marmoreal surfaces. 

“He’s in a meeting right now, I’m afraid,” said the Angel. “He has an appointment free in two and a half years. Can I schedule you then?”

“Two and half years?” said Aziraphale. “Two and half years!” Now he was yelling. He turned away from the reception desk. “Gabriel!” he cried, his voice ringing. He put some grace behind it. “Gabriel!” he yelled again and this time the floor shook.

“What?” asked an annoyingly calm voice behind him. He turned around to see Gabriel standing there, rubbing at one of his ears. “There was no need to yell,” said Gabriel. “My ears are going to be ringing for the next three hundred years.” 

“Sorry,” said Aziraphale, trying his best to seem friendly. “It’s just that I have a very time sensitive matter that I need to discuss.” 

“Very well,” said Gabriel, still clearly more interested in fixing his ears than listening to Aziraphale.

“I need a special dispensation,” said Aziraphale. “For healing.”

Gabriel looked at him mildly. “Who is it that you’re planning on healing?” he asked.

Aziraphale muttered something under his breath. 

Gabriel leaned in closer to Aziraphale. “Sorry, didn’t catch that. Someone was making a ruckus earlier and my ears still haven’t recovered.”

“I need to heal the Demon Crowley,” said Aziraphale through gritted teeth.

“And why would a demon need an angel to heal him?” asked Gabriel.

“He’s not a demon anymore,” said Aziraphale. “He’s human now.”

Gabriel looked at him for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed. He laughed far too heartily and for far too long while Aziraphale stood, stone faced, watching him. 

“You come in here,” said Gabriel through his laughter. “You come in here after all the things you did asking for a special dispensation to heal the Demon Crowley who is now actually human? What is this? April Fools?” He abruptly stopped laughing. “Get out of my sight before I make you pay for your crimes,” he said and then flashed a tight smile that didn’t nearly reach his eyes. 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to make one last plea. “No,” said Gabriel. “Go. And be glad I’m letting you leave.” Then he popped out of existence. 

Aziraphale looked around hoping for a helpful glance from any of the other angels in the room. Instead, he noticed an alarming number of guards with their weapons drawn, advancing on him. He quickly took a step back and into the circle. 

He appeared once again in the circle his living room. The moment his eyes recorperated, he saw the bedroom door swing open. Madame Tracy came rushing into the living room. “Oh good, you’re back,” she said. “Hurry, com here.” 

He followed her back into the bedroom. Crowley’s eyes were still shut but his head was flailing from side to side on the pillow and his cheeks were pink and warm. He was saying something but Aziraphale couldn’t tell what it was. He ran to Crowley’s side, bending over him and taking him by the shoulders. This close, he could hear that Crowley was saying, “Angel, Angel.”

“I’m here,” said Aziraphale. Crowley turned his face in the direction of Aziraphale’s voice. “I’m here. It’s all right.” Crowley’s eyes fluttered open and focused slowly on Aziraphale’s face. 

“You left,” said Crowley, squinting his eyes at Aziraphale. “You promised and then you left.” 

“I’m sorry,” said Aziraphale, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking Crowley’s hand. “I’m so sorry. I just couldn’t give up without trying everything.” 

“You went to Heaven?” asked Crowley.

“Yes.” Aziraphale nodded. 

Crowley looked at him for a long time. “I suppose I understand. I probably would have done the same for you, Angel.” 

Aziraphale nodded and held Crowley’s hand more tightly. 

“They didn’t help you?” asked Crowley.

“No,” whispered Aziraphale. 

Crowley nodded and closed his eyes but kept a tight grip on Aziraphale’s hand. Several long moments passed in silence and Aziraphale began to wonder if Crowley had fallen back asleep. 

Eventually, Crowley blinked open his eyes. “Stay with me?” he asked.

Aziraphale nodded. 

“You’d better,” said Crowley hoarsely. “Because if you leave again, I swear to Satan, I’ll never speak to you again.” 

Aziraphale smiled weakly at that. He sat for a few more moments, watching Crowley’s eyelids drift shut. A sound from the next room reminded him that Madame Tracy was still in the flat. She must have removed herself discreetly from the bedroom at some point in their conversation. 

Aziraphale gently touched Crowley’s cheek with a fingertip. He was surprised at how warm it was. “I have to go check on Madame Tracy, but I’ll be right back,” he said. Crowley nodded and squeezed his hand gently.

Sure enough, Madame Tracy had gone into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. An extra one sat on the table for Aziraphale. 

They sat silently for a moment, sipping their tea. 

“Thank you for coming,” said Aziraphale. 

“It’s not going to be much longer now, is it?” she asked.

“I suppose not,” said Aziraphale. 

“I could stay,” said Madame Tracy.

“Thank you but…” said Aziraphale, unsure of how to ask for what he wanted, the last few moments with Crowley, just the two of them as it had always been. 

“I understand,” she said as she stood. She looked down in to Aziraphale’s face, tears collecting in her eyes. “Don’t hesitate to call, should you need anything.” She gave Aziraphale a gentle squeeze on his shoulder as she passed and then she was gone.

Aziraphale went back to the bedroom, abandoning the tea mugs. Crowley was sleeping fitfully. Aziraphale sat in the chair to watch and wait.

Sometime later, Crowley’ breathing changed. It became slow and laboriously ragged. Aziraphale rushed to Crowley’s side, kneeling beside the bed. He took Crowley’s hand in his own and he could see Crowley’s soul. It was gathering in a cloud above his heart, only attached by wisps to Crowley’s chest. Aziraphale watched, unable to do anything. 

He felt sick. A knot was forming in his throat and his eyes began to heat and prickle. He tried to keep himself composed for Crowley. He leaned down, pressing his forehead on to his hands where they intertwined with Crowley’s. How much worse must it be for him? The excruciating pain of his soul leaving his body? The unbearable uncertainty of leaving a body that he had inhabited for six thousand years? 

He realized Crowley’s hand was damp with his tears. He righted himself and reached a hand up to wipe away his tears. As he moved, Crowley’s eyes fluttered open. Crowley was staring straight up, his eyes wide with panic. Aziraphale moved so Crowley would be able to see him. He reached out a hand to his head, trying to provide any comfort he could. 

Crowley’s eyes fixed on Aziraphale’s and Aziraphale felt Crowley’s hand twitch as though he’d tried to squeeze. Crowley’s breath was coming in ragged gasps. He was moving his lips as though to say something. 

Aziraphale bent his ear down to Crowley’s mouth. “I don’t want to go,” Crowley whispered. His eyes wandered away from Aziraphale’s face, staring at the unseeable in the distance. Then his eyelids slid shut.

Tears streamed down Aziraphale’s face. He watched as Crowley took a few more wracking breaths. Then he stilled. His soul parted from his body and began to float slowly upwards.

Aziraphale felt as though his heart was breaking, a physical pain in his chest that had him slumping forward until his head was resting on Crowley’s still body. There were no words, no sounds to express his anguish only the tears running down his face. He could hear a strange, breathy gasping and he realized it was his body heaving with silent sobs as though it rejected the very idea of a world without Crowley.

He didn’t know how long he’d been there. Time had ceased to have any meaning. All Aziraphale knew was the white-hot pain in his chest had not abated in the slightest before it happened.

Blinding whiteness filled the room and God herself appeared, wearing a timeless white gown with lots of fold and drapes. She also seemed to be wearing white combat boots. 

“Aziraphale,” she said with the voice that he remembered from the garden. “I could feel your grief three galaxies over. What has happened?”

Aziraphale looked up, his eyes red and his face wet with tears. On his face was a look of such infinite sadness that not even the most immortal of beings could fail to be moved. “He’s… He’s….” Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to say it and dropped his head back on to Crowley’s chest.

“Aziraphale, you have served me faithfully all these years,” God said. “You deserve happiness.” She took what appeared to be a Tesco bag from one of the folds of her gown and began scooping Crowley’s soul into it from where it was hovering at about nose height. Aziraphale watched, fluttering between terror at letting Crowley’s soul out of his sight and the awe at his creator that did not allow him to act against her. 

Finally, with all the soul gathered into the bag, she looped the bag’s handles over her wrist. Then she laid a hand gently on each of their heads. In a blink, they were in a white, sandy desert. 

Crowley was laid out on a granite plinth, ridiculously still in Aziraphale’s blue pajama’s, his feet still bare. Aziraphale still knelt at his side. He sat back slightly to look around but clung to Crowley’s arm.

God stood on the other side of the plinth. She took Crowley’s soul from the bag and began kneading it in her hands. Then she began to stretch it like you might stretch a piece of taffy. As she worked, the white light of his soul began to gather some speckles of blue. After a few moments, all of his soul was pale blue and glittering. Eventually, she seemed satisfied. She formed the soul into a ball and held it in one hand, as though she were weighing it.

“This will do nicely. Step back,” she commanded and Aziraphale obeyed, hovering but no longer touching. God step forward. She gently placed a hand on Crowley’s chin, tilting it down to open his mouth. Then she dripped his soul back into his mouth. When there was nothing left in her hand, she gently pressed Crowley’s mouth shut again. She placed both hands on Crowley’s chest. Looking up at Aziraphale, she said, “You may want to close your eyes.”

A pulse of energy radiated from her hands through Crowley’s body which arched up, his head lolling back. Aziraphale, who had not closed his eyes, gasped and stepped forward but stopped himself before he touched Crowley. God sent another pulse of energy into his body, he arched again and, this time, snow white wings blossomed from his back. 

God removed her hands and stepped back. She held out a hand to Aziraphale to keep him from running forward. They both watched for several long moments. Then Crowley took in a gasp of air. Aziraphale’s face split into a dazzling smiling. He glanced up from Crowley for just a moment. “May I?” he asked, breathless. God nodded.

Aziraphale ran forward and scooped up Crowley’s’ hand from where it had flopped over the edge of the plinth. Aziraphale knelt in the sand, careful to avoid Crowley’s new wings. He raised Crowley’s hand to his lips, kissed it and then brought it to rest against his cheek. He placed his other hand along the side of Crowley’s head, brushing the hair back from his face. 

Crowley’s eyes fluttered open, still human but with a heavenly light behind them. “Hey, Angel.” 

“Hello,” said Aziraphale. Crowley brought a hand up to Aziraphale’s shoulder and pulled him down in to an embrace. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley, trying to gather as much of him in as he could. He buried his face in Crowley’s neck. He could feel Crowley shaking and had a brief moment of panic before he realized he was laughing. 

God cleared her throat. Aziraphale and Crowley both looked up at her. “Thank you, Lord,” said Aziraphale. 

“Yes, thank you,” said Crowley, his voice soft and full of wonder. 

“My pleasure,” she said. “Just please, wait until I’m out of the solar system before you take this-” she punctuated her words with an encompassing gesture, “any further.” And then she disappeared. 

“So, I’m an angel now,” said Crowley, looking up in it Aziraphale’s face, his hand reaching up to twist in Aziraphale’s hair. 

“You are,” said Aziraphale, smiling down at him. 

“Well, one of us is going to have to come up with a new pet name, because we can’t both call each other Angel,” said Crowley, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“Oh, Angel” said Aziraphale. “Why ever not?” And then he leaned down and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
